


After Hours

by Dalzo



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Makeup Sex, Reunion Sex, Sharing a Bed, they just really need to talk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-04-07 05:16:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19078231
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dalzo/pseuds/Dalzo
Summary: Gendry never thought he'd receive another late-night call from her again."The two am call?""Yeah — you know, if I need you or whatever.""Like what?""If I'm stuck somewhere or something bad has happened. If Sansa pisses me off—""That's not a good reason—"It is — you'd know if you lived with her—"Just like always, though, she likes to prove him wrong.





	After Hours

There's a certain familiarity in the vibration that shakes him into consciousness — old and distant,  _ yes _ , but tweaking at buried memories.

 

It takes time to realise it's even there, buzzing in long pulses; it takes longer to recognise that he's even awake. But he always does, eventually — hand grappling at the mattress, eyes shut closed until it eventually slaps against the cool glass back of his phone. Now grasped in the palm of his hand, Gendry blinks up at the bright device until the font blurs into focus.

 

 

**Unknown Number**

 

 

He shouldn't answer.  _ He shouldn't _ ; it's dark, it's probably ridiculous early, there's no knowing it's her — but he does. He always does.

 

_ "Mmhyeah?" _

 

It comes from his chest, like a guttural hum. Unintelligible, most like, but the stranger on the line still answers, unphased.

 

"Nine rings." His body freezes as the familiar voice washes over him; it's deep and earthy, crisp and Northern. "Always nine rings 'till you answer."

 

"Arya?" He asks, just for clarity. He doesn't need it, though — not really. Those buried memories have now been brought to the surface, clear as daylight.

 

 

_ "The two am call?" _

_ "Yeah — you know, if I need you or whatever." _

_ "Like what?" _

_ "If I'm stuck somewhere or something bad has happened. If Sansa pisses me off—" _

_ "That's not a good reason— _

_ "It is — you'd know if you lived with her—" _

 

 

"Yeah.  _ Yeah _ , it's Arya."

 

A lengthy pause follows. It's a prominent kind of silence — the kind that lingers after a broken friendship; the kind that comes after that ' _ friend' _ calls you in the middle of the night, years later.

 

She was always good at that, though: cool grudges, lasting a lifetime until she decided that nothing had ever happened. There was never any resolve. He supposes there still isn't.

 

"What is it, Arry?"

 

"Did I wake you?" He sighs deep into the phone. "I'm sorry. I just…" She trails off and that ever-lasting worry peaks through; knocking at his chest in time with his quickening heartbeat.

 

"Are you alright—"

 

"I'm fine." She reassures quickly, a strange and rare waver to her tone; similar to their very first late conversation over the phone. "I'm okay."

 

"Then why are you callin' at this time of night—"

 

"Because I need a favour." She snaps back. "I need a lift."

 

Gendry blinks, staring up at the dark ceiling, barely awake to process her words and the weight of their meaning. Slowly, it dawns, brows furrowing as he croaks out the question in a rush. "Where are you?"

"At KLA. I just landed--"

 

"You're at the airport?" Gendry asks absently.  _ "In Kings Landing?" _

 

"That's what I said, didn't I stupid?"

 

_ Stupid.  _ It almost makes him smile.

 

"You should be in Braavos—"

 

"Well I'm not."

 

He bites his tongue, but the stubborn bull never can be restrained. "Why?"  It's her sigh that comes through the phone, this time.

 

"Do we have to do this over the phone?"

 

"No." He relents. "S'pose you want me to come get you."

 

"Yes." Another pause. "Yes please." An afterthought.

 

"Alright."

 

"Alright." She repeats, letting the word draw out until it fades back into silence. A second or two passes before the line cuts. He always let's her hang up.

 

He never had the courage to do it himself — not over the phone, anyways. He sure was good at it in person, though; fucking everything up.

 

With that bitter thought on mind, Gendry pulls the phone from his ear, thumb bearing down on the lock button with a tight grimace. The screen flashes, eyes narrowing into a squint as he reads the time:

 

 

**5:17**

**Sunday, April 7**

 

 

Not 2am, Gendry thinks, shifting to glance out the window. It's fogged from the morning chill, the sky a dark stretch of blue — dim and starless. There's little to no light.

 

_ Funny, _ he remembers, hand finding the switch that floods the room in a bright yellow glow.  _ There were no stars that early morning when he took her to the airport, all those years ago. _

 

But Gendry doesn't laugh.

 

He gets up, rubs at his eyes and searches for a shirt — readying himself for another favour to collect; another not-so 2am call.

 

~ * ~

 

He remembers the first call well — better than all, except for the last maybe. It’s the easiest to recall,  _ that’s for sure;  _ no complications.

 

_ Sixteen years old _ , he was, just three months after their conversation about late night phone calls and the duty of friends; three months after  _ Arya Stark _ turned thirteen and her parents gifted a nice new phone.

 

It was that very conversation that sparked the idea to use his hard-earned money to buy a cheap, ninety-dollar phone; so small and thick in his hand -- so bloody old compared to her slim and sleek iPhone.

 

Without it though, she couldn't call; couldn't reach him, if she ever  _ needed _ help.

 

Arya never asked for help. The thought of her asking… well, that tugged at something he fought hard to repress.

 

So he bought the damn phone (one that people mocked because everyone could always afford something better, thanks to their parents) and added her number among a few others,  _ Hot Pie's _ and  _ Lommy's  _ and the home number to his foster parents. He bought the credit, too, all because they'd text sometimes, just on the afternoons they didn't hang out; her replies swift and fast, Gendry's long and hard to type out (it wasn't just the phone that made it difficult to type).

 

Most of all, he wondered if he’d simply just wasted his money. Until she called. And  _ just like that _ , it all clicked into place.

 

"Arya." He whispers, softly so as not to wake his foster parents. The pause is so long he starts to think she didn't hear.

 

"Hi." She finally returns; meek and small in the dead of night — so unlike her; so unfamiliar compared to her usual boldness.

 

He finds his voice. "Are you alright?"

 

Another long pause. “Can you just… _can you just_ _talk?”_

 

“What’s wrong?” Instinctively, he sits up; heart pounding at the sound of her upset -- the urge to find a way to fix it clambering at his ribcage, demanding immediate action.

 

But this isn’t a car engine; this isn’t a simple oil leak that he can patch up at Mott’s Autoshop.

 

“Jon’s getting deployed.”

 

His stomach drops and hollows out. He can hear the early morning birds outside -- they chirp on, as if nothing is out of place.

 

“When?”

 

How many times has Arya talked about Jon; the stories that have her grinning wide as she tells them, over and over.

 

“Next month.” She sniffs over the line and he  _ wishes  _ he knew what to say. “Just… just tell me something -- anything at all. Just talk so I don’t have to think.”

 

He swallows thickly --  _ what can he say that can possibly help? What if he makes it worse? _

 

“Hot Pie thought Winterfell was called  _ Winterhell _ \-- I think he might even still believe it.”

 

Silence follows. The birds chitter prettily outside. Gendry sinks into his mattress.

 

Then, an amused snort follows; wet and teary, but  _ still amused.  _ “Of course he does.”

 

A small smile worked at his lips, finding it easier to open his mouth once more.

 

“And Lommy -- in our textiles class, he dyed his hands  _ green.  _ It didn’t fully come off for weeks.”

 

They talked until the early hours of the morning.

 

~ * ~

 

It takes five minutes of patience, waiting in the pick-up lane, for her to appear at his passenger window. 

 

With the early rising sun, she’s bathed in a golden glow; skin shining from the Braavosi sun, fresh freckles scattered sparsely across her nose. In the light, he can see how she’s grown -- the mature look that’s moulded her youth. 

 

_ Beautiful, _ is all that comes to mind -- dressed in baggy sweats, hair scrunched into a messy bun.  _ Beautiful.  _

Gendry doesn't get out to help her with the suitcase — it'd only annoy her, he knew this. He doesn't even glance out at her, really; just staring straight ahead as she opens one of the back doors and heaves it onto the seat, wordlessly.

"Hey,"

His eyes shift to his left, catching her own for a second too long — taking in the Stark grey eyes. 

 

“Hey.” He croaks in return. “Long time, no see.” 

 

The storm in her eyes turn; raging like a violent storm as anger slices through. 

 

Gendry only turns his gaze back out the windshield. 

 

“Thanks for picking me up.” She says just before clambering inside his truck. 

 

“Just doing what was asked.” She shuts the passenger door and Gendry quickly rolls into first gear. He glances left and still finds her glare pointed in his direction. “Any other requests?” 

 

She huffs.  _ “Stupid.”  _

 

There’s a smile, twitching at his lips, but there’s too much to discuss to pretend there’s not. He can’t do it -- pretend like everything’s okay when their last encounter is burned into his mind. Not like her. 

 

“Can we…” She trails off, with a sigh. “Would you mind if we get some food?” 

 

He should just drop her home, really -- get back to bed, sleep off the impending headache she’ll cause by avoiding all his warranted questions. 

 

But he’s never been good at saying no. Not with her. 

 

“As M’lady commands.” 

 

And it’s worth the small smile -- he’s missed the stunning sight.    
  


**Author's Note:**

> another day, another wip. send help... or comments. they'll motivate me, I swear it on the Old Gods and the New! 
> 
> Also, we're gonna uncover whyyy their relationship is a whole lotta bitter throughout the chapters. 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this brief introduction chapt
> 
> You can find me on tumblr @reyloner and on twitter @dalzonii x


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